


Such a Fool

by jones18 (Chrindaj)



Category: Doc Martin - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-01
Updated: 2011-04-01
Packaged: 2017-10-17 10:31:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrindaj/pseuds/jones18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A different take on Series 3, Episode 5. Martin and Louisa' break-up after their first date. This is a short eight chapter Fan Fiction.</p><p>"Doc Martin" is the property of Buffalo Pictures Ltd, not mine, I'm just messing about with it a bit!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Break-up

 

"I don't want to see you anymore." He cringed as the utterance struck his chest. Her words were so final. So Firm. So absolute. So without hope of redemption. Their impact left him stunned, with no breath remaining in his lungs for mounting a protest when she whispered goodbye and exited the car.

Their evening had started with much promise. He was on time, as was his way, dressed in a cotton suit and silk tie, newly purchased from a men’s clothier in Truro. He had taken great pains to close the surgery on time, turning away drop- ins and leaving the patient file updates for the next morning. The mobile, which only left his person when he slept, was placed purposefully on the chest of drawers in his bedroom, with a newly recorded message directing his patients to the trauma centre in Wadebridge.

When he arrived at her home, she had not disappointed. Waiting at the entrance of her cottage, she was stunningly draped in a classic, knee length black dress. Her dark hair was pulled to the back of her head in a fashionable French tuck, which softened the lines of her face and emphasized the delicate curve of her neck. She smelled of Kenzo Flower.

 He had paused to take in the beauty that was her. Pleased she had chosen him to be her escort for the evening.  Wondering what it was she saw in him that was so worthy of her attention. So very thankful she had taken such an interest.

The quartet they had gone to hear was reasonably accomplished for an amateur group. However, neither took notice of anything besides the dance being enacted beneath the outstretched canopy of the elder English Elm where they sat. Her part of their dance moved her closer to his side in hopes of placing her head on his shoulder. His part involved gazing at the outline of her face for as long as he dared before her unease forced her to turn her head and graciously smile. They performed this waltz until the program ended, and the crowds made their way to the car park. Their lengthy dance had emboldened him with the courage to take her hand in his. She in turn, guided him to a secluded stand of Alder where she kissed him.

This was where he knew things had gone irrevocably wrong. This is where he had prattled on and on about pheromones and her mood swings, distilling her feelings for him into nothing more than biological and chemical interplay. Disregarding and minimizing entirely the free will choice she made to allow herself to fall in love with him.

He made an attempt to stanch the bleeding of the incision he unwittingly made by apologizing. Saying he hadn’t been criticizing her; he was truly interested. However, the proffered apology was too little and far too late. 

Now, Martin sat inside the idling car, in the pounding rain, watching the woman he longed for, disappear behind the finality of a closed door.


	2. The Heartbreak

Louisa slumped to the floor of the darkened entry, angry and crying. The cutting silence of Martin’s protests still echoed in her ears. He hadn’t tried to stop her from leaving the car, or tried to speak words in his own defense. He simply sat in resigned acceptance and watched her walk away, as though he had no choice in the matter. She hadn’t expected he would do anything romantic or drastic, but she had hoped he would have tried, in his way, to fight for what remained.

Her heart fell when she heard his car pull away without his first seeking to make amends. It was almost more than she could bear to think they were truly over. This wasn’t just one of their little rows over which one would eventually apologize and bring the relationship back into balance. No, she knew it would take more than an apology to put this back to right and she was certain he knew it as well. _Why didn’t he stop me? Why didn’t he put up a fight when I said I didn’t want to see him anymore? Do I mean so little to him that he can’t be bothered with the effort?_  

She had wanted their evening together to be the start of a new chapter in their relationship. An opportunity for them to get away from the village, to breathe and be themselves without worry of who might see them doing so. The note attached to the rose Martin left on her doorstep earlier in the day, gave credence to the hope that this new chapter would indeed be written.

 

 _Louisa,_

 _I am looking forward to attending the concert with you tonight._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Martin_

 _  
_

His note wasn’t overtly romantic or soppy, nor had she expected it to be, because Martin was none of those things. Yet, it was sweet in its way, in spite of its succinctness and directness, and it spoke volumes for how far Martin had come in trusting her with who he was. However, that trust appeared to have flown out the window when she pulled him into the stand of trees and kissed him. _What was it about the act of tenderness that made him lose his nerve and revert to his instinctive doctor mode when things got a bit steamy or out of his control?_ She had no idea from where this behavior stemmed. What she did know was that she was weary from attempting to discover its root. She could only take so much of this behavior, before the need would arise to rethink her position on their relationship. Martin’s behavior tonight had brought about the redefining moment she was hoping to avoid.

 It had never crossed her mind that their evening together would end in such a disastrous way. There would be no opportunity now for a lopsided, sweetly awkward conversation in her small back garden after the concert, as she had hoped.  Nor would there be lingering touches and longing imbued kisses at the door as he prepared to leave for the night. In their stead she would be left with the intolerable weight of their loss and no idea how to go back or whether she really wanted to do so. _Why does he insist on spoiling things? He belittles my feelings, as if everything in the world boils down to chemical reactions and animal urges and has nothing to do with the ability to reason or choose._ Her anger found strength once again when his misspoken words invaded her thoughts. _He pushes me away at every turn and then acts as though he can’t understand why I’m angry with him when he does. Could I have misjudged his attraction to me? Have I been trying to force him into a role he doesn’t want to play?_ No, she was certain from the first time she gazed into his lonely, grey eyes, that she had stirred something within him. She saw it in the way his face softened when he looked at her and how the harshness in his eyes faded when she spoke to him, as if the sound of her voice soothed the angry being holding him within its grasp. She hadn’t been wrong.

Gathering herself and her handbag from the rain dampened floor, Louisa wiped the tears running down her cheeks with the back of her hand. She slipped off her shoes, tossing them into the corner of the entry, and deliberately made her way through the moonlit sitting room to the sliding glass door overlooking the harbour. From her new vantage point she could see the surgery and the classic, flowing lines of Martin’s car as it pulled into the adjoining car park. An eon seemed to pass before he pulled his tall, sturdy frame from the car and reached back in to retrieve something from inside.  What he took from the car was the hand crocheted shawl Louisa had brought with her in preparation for the chill following a spring sunset. The shawl had been forgotten on the back seat when she hastily made her exit and left him sitting there. She looked on as he folded the shawl with great care, into a tidy little package and then held it to his face for just the briefest of moments, before turning toward the path leading to the back garden.  She willed him to turn around so he could bear witness to the fact that he was not the only one hurting. The only one lost without the other.  She watched him disappear from view along with any hope she nurtured that he would recognize his loss and come for her.


	3. The Decision

 Martin ran headlong for home and the space beneath the bed, like a beaten puppy, intent on licking his wounds in relative obscurity. The bottle of Jameson Whiskey his father left behind in the side board, found a place at the kitchen table, alongside a previously used shot glass and a despondent, wreck of a man. This would be the bed under which Martin intended to hide. Within normal circumstances he didn’t drink alcohol of any sort. Despising the taste and the ridiculous way it made people behave, but in this instance he needed something capable of driving the pain underground. Something to, at the very least, dull its throbbing, serrated edges and grant him some relief.  He hadn’t stopped weeping since Louisa left the car and refused to look back at him. That moment destroyed him. The sight had torn his being from his body, taking with it any hope he harbored of building a life with her.  It was his struggle to keep the damning hopelessness at bay, which made succumbing to the allure of the whiskey so attractive.

 In the deafening silence surrounding him, Martin sat alone beneath the crushing weight of his misery, flipping the stout shot glass repeatedly from its bottom, to its rim and back again to its bottom. It was an inane attempt at soothing himself so as not to give into the siren’s song drifting from the open bottle. Periodically he lifted his head to check the window of the back garden door, hoping against hope that Louisa’s silhouette would once again grace the leaded pane at its center. Giving him back the breath she had stolen from him by saying she forgave him, she still loved him, and she wanted to start anew. In his heart he knew Louisa was not likely to do such a thing, not this time. He had obviously pushed her well past the point of no return.

He understood the whole interminable affair was of his own making. What blathered forth from his mouth at that intimate moment visibly upset her. The frown on her face and hurt in her eyes should have been an obvious signal to end his trail of conversation.  Yet, he didn’t see the signs and therefore couldn’t stop himself. Even when she verbally warned him not to spoil it, he continued on as if he believed what he was saying would somehow enhance the moment _._

 _“What is wrong with you, man? Why do you always do this? Why do you interminably say the wrong things to her and push her further from you? Why can’t you get it right, just once, for God’s sake?”_  Martin threw the glass he was messing with across the room where it shattered against the back garden door. The violent outburst made him feel better, but only until the adrenaline had played itself out.

He wasn’t likely ever to consistently get things right in his relationship with Louisa or any other person for that matter. He wasn’t physically capable of doing so. The psychologist next door to Louisa’s cottage had rightly diagnosed Martin with displaying signs of Asperger Syndrome. Martin had researched the syndrome and then diagnosed himself with it years ago, but never mentioned it to anyone for fear it would damage his reputation at the hospital. He spent the months that followed the diagnosis endeavoring to train himself to read the physical and emotional responses of the people he was surrounded by every day, and strove to make his own responses appropriate to theirs. The consistent effort he found difficult and exhausting, and unless it directly benefited him in some meaningful or tangible manner, he saw no reason for continuing. He had only managed to get things mostly right with his Auntie Joan because she helped him develop a few skills to aid him in blending in. She hadn’t though, taught him how to relate to women in a way which would help him find the love he so desperately sought.

Louisa was the only woman he had allowed to glimpse the abused and beaten man he truly was. She loved him in spite of himself and he knew there would never be another like her. He had waited all his life for someone to love him the way she loved him. She was everything he hoped true love would be and he couldn’t bear the thought of being without her.

 _You would be out of your bloody head to let this lay as it does now. To let her go would be a mistake you would never recover from, ever! You’ve made enough of those types of mistake; it would be ridiculously stupid of you to make another, knowing full well what you risk losing. It’s time for you to move past the fear and tell her how you feel before it’s too late._ Martin sprang from the chair and strode toward the door, crushing the shards of glass strewn within his path. Seconds later he was down the walkway behind the surgery, past the storage shed by the surgery car park, and then down the lane leading to her cottage. Hell bent on pouring out his heart to her even if she no longer wanted to hear it.


	4. The Rub

The rain stopped only moments before Martin left the surgery. Standing on Louisa’s doorstep, the downpour began again with a vengeance, leaving him woefully ill prepared for the onslaught. Self preservation prompted him to pull the collar of his suit jacket up, in an attempt to keep the water from rolling down the back of his neck, then scrunch his shoulders up around his ears for warmth. With the pressing problem of his comfort under control for the moment, he addressed the difficult and delicate problem of how to make amends with Louisa.  The walk to her cottage yielded no coherent plan for how he was going to win her back, which meant he would have to rely on his instincts, of which he had none.

Pressed beneath the small, ornamental overhang just above the cottage’s entrance, Martin knocked on the frosted glass of the door. When Louisa didn’t answer, he knocked once more and called her name as loudly as he dared in the dead of the night and waited for her response. This time he could see her shadow moving about behind the door of the unlit entry. “Louisa, open the door. I need to speak with you.” The wind was blowing in gusts now, causing the rain to fall almost diagonally, pelting his trouser legs, soaking his shoes and socks. “It’s quite wet, Louisa and I’m not exactly dressed for a monsoon.” He could feel rivulets of water winding their way from the top of his head, around his ears and down the sides of his neck, soaking the collar of his shirt. “Louisa, I can’t speak to you properly about what happened with the door standing between us.” He pulled the collar of his jacket tighter to his neck and shrugged his shoulders a few time to rid them of the rain accumulating in its wrinkles. “Louisa?” his voice, almost pleading.

   Louisa rested her back against the wall across from the front door and took a deep breath. She wasn’t prepared for this. Nothing was ever easily talked through with Martin and there hadn’t been sufficient time since their falling out for her to gather her thoughts to decide how she really felt about things or how she planned to cope until she knew. The despondent crying fit she had engaged in the last several hours drained her of everything but her desire for rest. “Yes, I hear you, Martin. Though, I’m not letting you in. I’m sorry.”

“Why on earth not?”  His trouser legs were beginning to cling to his calves.

“It’s late. I’m exhausted and truthfully, I’m not prepared to talk to you at the moment. I need time to think. You probably do as well.” The fact that he was outside her door in the middle of the night, should have enlightened her to the realization that he had already done his thinking.

“Louisa, let’s be adult about this. I know I’m not the easiest person to get along with and I don’t always know what to say or do when it comes to you, but I’m here now and I’m trying.”

Her voice softened as she spoke to him. “I know you’re trying, Martin, and I know you’ve _been_ trying, really I do. I just need a few days to sort this out, to have a proper think. I believe that’s not too much to ask considering what’s at stake.” She stepped toward the door and then stopped herself from opening it. “I know I wounded you with what I said, and I’m so very sorry for that, but you hurt me as well. You say careless things without any real thought and they wound me. I used to believe I had thick skin and the will to bounce back from anything. Still, even the thickest of skin finds it difficult to be hurt over and over again by the person they love. I don’t know if I can take the carelessness anymore. Something has to change.” She placed the palm of her hand against the cold glass, hoping he would see it. “Martin…are you still there?”

“Yes… yes, I’m still here.”  He half whispered his response and placed his palm on the glass so it rested over hers. At that moment the rain began to subside just as quickly as it had started, granting his body the reprieve it needed. “I want there to be the possibility of an ‘us’, Louisa. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life, but I don’t know what to do to make that happen.” He leaned his body against the dripping door, wearied by the cold and the unfamiliar emotions dogging him. “Tell me what I need to do to make things right between us.”

“Martin, this isn’t something that can be fixed with one of your procedures. I can’t _tell_ you what to do to mend this. Only you know what you’re capable of doing and what you’re not. Please, go home and give me a few days to think. I promise I’ll come round to see you when I’ve sorted myself out.” Louisa couldn’t tell if the silence coming from the other side of the door existed due to his lack of words or his having left her doorstep completely. “Did you hear me? Martin?”

“Louisa, please… don’t make me go home in this way. I can’t function properly knowing you’re this angry with me.”

“I’m not angry, Martin. Really, I’m not. I’m just…”

“You’re just what?”

“I’m just sad for you. I’m sad for us. Sad that you’ve spent your entire life without knowing love and then when you finally have real and meaningful love within your reach, you do everything within your power to sour it on you. Almost as if you feel you’re not deserving of it.’ It struck Louisa at that moment that she might have hit upon something. “Is that what it is Martin, you feel you don’t deserve to be loved?”

“I’m not a particularly lovable person, Louisa. I’m rudely honest, cruelly gruff, monosyllabic to the point of being maddening, and I’m not particularly physically attractive. What would any sane woman possibly find appealing in such a mess of a man?”

She chose to ignore the last bit. Deciding it wouldn’t be worth directing his attention to yet another one of his thoughtless blurtings. “Martin, please go home. I _will_ come round when I’ve sorted this out, just like I said I would. Now, go before the rain starts again.”

He let his hand slip from the windowpane to his side. “I do love you, Louisa.”

“I know you do. I love you too.” Louisa turned to make her way up the stairs to bed, murmuring under her breath, “I love you too, Martin, but that’s the rub though, isn’t it?”


	5. Worth Fighting For.

  The dream had been a disconcertingly vivid one. So vivid in fact, that the moment he roused from it, he reached for her. If anyone had asked, he would have sworn, on his honor, that she had been there, in his bed beside him. Touching him, loving him, whispering all the words he needed to hear from her. If he closed his eyes, even now, he could still feel her rhythmic breathing against the side of his neck and the warmth and pressure of her body lying sleep filled against his.   But, she hadn’t been with him, it _had_ only been a dream, and the experience was most unnerving. If only the events of the night before had also been a dream.




Martin reached for the night stand beside his bed and snatched the windup alarm from its mahogany surface. He rubbed his bleary eyes and checked the hands of the clock. As much as he wanted the face to say something besides six in the morning, he knew it wouldn’t. It had only been a few hours since his hapless attempt to win Louisa back, and only three, short hours before he would have to reopen the surgery and face the day. The offending alarm clock was tossed to the foot of the bed and then swept to the floor with a swift shove from his blanketed foot. “Bugger it! I’m not opening the surgery.”  The last thing he wanted today was to attend to puss ridden toe nails and the oozing noses of children in the throes of sinus infections. “I’ll have Pauline cancel my appointments for the day. If they’re that ill, they can damn well go to Wadebridge.” The rant made him feel better. Though, he knew there was no real intent behind cancelling his appointments. He held a strong sense of duty toward the people of Port Wenn, knowing that when it came down to it, the village needed him as much as he needed being needed by the village.

 His well filled frame was pushed to the side of the bed, across from which hung the mirror of the antique dresser set he bought at an estate auction in Northumbria. The figure reflected back to him was a weary one. One with ears too large and eyes which, if one stared deeply enough, betrayed the lost and lonely man within. _What could she possibly see in me?_ He watched in the mirror as he raked his fingers over the stubble shadowing his face.He couldn’t begin to guess what it was Louisa saw in the man before him, but he knew exactly what it was he saw in her. It was hope. A long awaited hope which brought with it understanding and acceptance and the promise of the normal life he longed after.  He was tired of going through the motions of his life alone. So very tired of the isolation and distance placed between himself and the world. So, very, very tired.

Leaving the side of the bed, Martin stumbled to the closet for his bathrobe. He was exhausted, losing several hours of what was left of the night to tossing and turning and regret. An attempt to return to sleep at this hour would be a desperate one at best. What he needed at the moment, besides the woman who held sway over his heart, was a very hot, very strong cup of espresso. Something he could have in good order if he could just get himself to move a bit faster. Everything at the moment felt as though it were running several times slower than it should. This feeling was not new, it was a feeling he remembered all too well. It was fatigue and emotional distress, and it was the way he felt everyday throughout the entire stint of his surgical residencies in London.  He hated the feeling then and he hated the feeling even more now.

The ill temperament he found himself in the grip of began to fade as he made his way downstairs toward the espresso machine and the cup of dark, caffeinated bliss shouting his name, until he heard the strangled ring of the surgery doorbell. Pulling his robe closed and tying it securely in front of him, he stepped onto the chilled, flagstone floor of the surgery waiting area and immediately realized he had forgotten his house shoes upstairs. “Bugger!” He started to return to his bedroom when the bell rang again. “Sod it! Someone better be dying!” The bell rang for a third time just as he grabbed hold of the door knob. “The surgery is closed!” Martin swung the door open and found Roger standing, windblown and determined, on the surgery stoop.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing. Sorry, Roger. The surgery doesn’t open until nine, but if it’s an emergency, I’ll call an ambulance and get dressed.”

“No, Martin. I’m not here as your patient, I’m here as your friend.” Roger stared at him expectantly, the wind from the harbour blowing his hair in every direction but the proper one.  “Are you going to ask me inside or are we both going to freeze our arses off whilst you regain your manners?”

“Mmm, yes… of course. Come through.” Roger was waved into the waiting area, his face given a good looking over as he passed. “Are you here to warn me of an impending sacking or some infraction I’ve knowingly or unknowingly committed?”

“What?” Roger shook his head. “No, nothing like that.” He pulled the hand knitted scarf from around his neck and stuffed it into the outside pocket of his jacket, and then gave his hair a flattening with the palm of his hand.

Martin led the way to the kitchen and then held up a sealed container of ground espresso beans from the cabinet. “Cup?”

“Yes, thanks. Two sugars, please.”

 Martin frowned. _Another perfectly prepared cup of espresso ruined with sugar._ “Has Mrs. Harris been complaining to the village leaders again about the smoking ban I placed on the surgery stoop?”

“No, I’ve said it’s nothing like that.” Roger hung his jacket on the back of one of the kitchen chairs and sat down so he was facing the end of the room where Martin was fidgeting with the espresso machine.

“Yes, so you did. Then what has you rattling my proverbial cage at this early hour if it’s not the threat of my termination?”

“I thought you should know. It’s all around the village, Martin.”

“What’s all around the village?” Martin tamped ground espresso beans into the double portafilter and added water to the machines reservoir.

  
“You know… earlier this morning…in the rain…”

The machine was switched on and the brewing process began in earnest. “Listen, Roger. I’ve had an extremely difficult night and I don’t anticipate today will be any better. I don’t have the patience’s nor the want for a game of twenty questions. Just get to the point.”

“Alright, I thought you should be aware that the majority of the village knows what happened between you and Louisa last night.”

Roger now had Martin’s full attention. “What do you mean the village knows what happened last night?”

“I mean, Mrs. Lamb heard you outside Louisa’s cottage hollering for her to open the door. She’s told the other snoops in the village and it’s spread like the plague. I heard it from the king of the snoops when he delivered my mail this morning.”

Martin removed the two cups from beneath the espresso machine, brought them to the table with their saucers and sat down across from Roger. “The sugar is in the bowl in front of you.” He handed Roger a spoon and then asked, “Is that all she said, there wasn’t anything more?”

Two heaping spoons of sugar were added to Roger’s cup and then quickly stirred in. “She admitted she couldn’t hear Louisa’s side of the conversation, but you can imagine what a fete they’re having with just the bit about you standing in the rain, shouting.” He blew a few seconds over the rim of the cup and then took a careful sip. “Martin, you know I don’t believe three quarters of the rumours that fly around this village, but were you really standing outside Louisa’s door, shouting?”

“Yes, I was.” Martin was relieved to hear his side of their conversation was all that had been overheard. The scene outside Louisa’s door could easily be lived with. The village knowing exactly what she said before he stood in the rain pleading with her, and what she said during his drenching, would have been less easily lived down.

 

“Do you care to elaborate?”

“If you must know, I wasn’t shouting in anger, I was shouting to be heard above the rainstorm.”

“Did something happen between the two of you at the concert last night?”

A sharp pain stabbed at his chest when he recalled the evening. “How did you know about the concert…never mind, I don’t know why I expect people to mind their own business.”

“Martin, Louisa told me the two of you were going out. She was very excited about spending the evening with you and apparently needed to tell someone. So she told me, keeper of secrets and all that. And, no I haven’t told anyone.”

The pain worsened when he remembered how excited he himself had been over the thought of spending the evening with her. He closed his eyes to push back the tears and tried to recall the smell of Kenzo Flower she was wearing.

“Martin, are you alright?”

He opened his eyes again, vaguely staring in Roger’s direction. “No, I’m not and I suspect there’s nothing to be done about it.”

“It can’t be as bad as all that can it?”

The untouched espresso was pushed away as Martin got up from the table. “She doesn’t want to see me anymore and that’s all I care to say about the matter.” Martin leaned against the counter beside the sink.

Roger nearly choked on the latest draught he’d taken from the cup. “What did you do, man? The woman is besotted with you. You shouldn’t have been able to muck that up.”

“Well, apparently I did. And as I’ve already said, I don’t wish to discuss it.”

Roger ignored Martin’s dismissal. “Do you have any idea where things went wrong? Was it at dinner or the drive home?”

“I know exactly where it went wrong. And for the third time I don’t wish to discuss it!” Martin folded his arms over his chest in a gesture of defiance.

“You said something rude and unthinking. Something that hurt her feelings, didn’t you?”

 _Why are you allowing Roger to interfere like this?_ The two weren’t the closest of friends, but Roger was the closest Martin was ever going to get to a best friend, and he desperately needed someone to talk this over with. “Of course I did, or we wouldn’t be here, discussing it now, would we?

“You did try to apologize to her, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did. I’m not a complete, unfeeling ass, though it may appear so at the moment.”

“And the shouting in front of her cottage?”

 

“My impotent attempt at apologizing for hurting her, and ruining our evening.”

Roger added more sugar to his espresso and asked, “Were you able to get any nearer to patching things up?”

  
Martin sighed heavily. “Louisa wouldn’t let me in to discuss what happened. She kept saying something about needing time to think. At the end of it all she said she would come around to see me once she’s sorted herself out.”

“It sounds as though she’s not completely cut off the avenue just yet. I’d say there’s still hope.”

Martin’s face brightened a bit. “Do you really think so?” His worst fear was that she would somehow come to her senses, rethink her attraction to him and leave him once again in the hell she had found him in.

“Until she says, in no uncertain terms, she doesn’t want to see you anymore, there’s always hope.” Catching the look of disbelief on his face, Roger reassured him. “I do believe there’s still hope, Martin. The fact that she said she would come round to see you after her think, says a great deal. Louisa loves you. Anyone with eyes can see that. She’s not going to give up so easily. She just needs time to regroup.”

Martin wanted to fall back into bed, bury himself beneath the blankets and weep. His entire emotional and physical well being hinged upon the hope that the woman he loved, and was certain loved him, would not allow herself to give up on him. “Is it supposed to hurt so badly? I can hardly breathe sometimes for the ache in my chest.” He uncrossed his arms and bent over, as if trying to catch his breath. “The more I think about her, the more it aches. I try not to think about her, but it’s a battle I’m not capable of fighting. I can’t function like this.”

Roger got up from his chair to comfort a man he could see was clearly in need of his compassion. He placed his hand on Martin’s shoulder, gave it a slight squeeze and a gentle rub, and then left it there while Martin caught hold of himself. “If it didn’t hurt like this you wouldn’t know it was real, would you? You wouldn’t know it was something worth fighting for, would you? You’re the other half of this relationship. Quit acting as if Louisa is the only one with any say in it. Quit rolling over before you hear the command, and just fight. It’s not over until it’s over, Martin. Until then you fight for what you want and you don’t stop until you get it or she walks away.”  Roger gave Martin’s shoulder another squeeze and then slipped his hand into his own pocket. “Then, if the end does come, there are no regrets over what you should have done, but didn’t.”


	6. The Visit

It was the obnoxious peal emanating from her mobile that pulled her into the stark reality of the new morning. Louisa opened her eyes in response to the familiar sound and then wished she hadn’t. Her eyelids felt heavy and swollen, the eyes themselves, irritated and scratchy from the continuous barrage of salty tears the night before.  She had fallen asleep crying. Something she knew better than to do when there was teaching to be done the next morning. Yet, she couldn’t stop herself. Martin’s parting words struck a chord in her she couldn’t suppress.

The persistent mobile beckoned once more from where it lay on the dresser, in the bottom of the beaded, black handbag she carried the night before. Louisa grabbed the pillow beside her and buried her head, in an effort to drown out the urgency of the repeated ringing. She was in no mood for making small talk or taking unwanted advice, and she certainly didn’t want to answer questions from well meaning, but nosey friends. Whoever it was on the other end of the line could bloody well get stuffed.

A few moments later, Louisa thought better of her stance, realizing as much as she wanted to ignore the call summoning her from the other side of the room, she didn’t have the freedom to do so. Her job as Port Wenn’s Head Teacher didn’t allow for such a luxury.

The duvet from her bed was thrown to the side in haste and the bottom of the evening bag was groped until the device was located and opened. “Hello!”

“Louisa, Joan here. Coming by your cottage to talk. Put the kettle on, I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“No, Joan. I’m not wanting any company…” With a click, Joan ended their conversation before Louisa could finish her objection. “Joan? Joan?” She snapped the phone closed and chucked it onto the bed. “The last thing I need is a visit from Martin’s aunt.” Louisa stood for a moment to clear her head and focus. “Alright, get some clothes on and do something about your face. You don’t want to scare your guest.” A pair of jeans, and a periwinkle, collared, V necked jumper were taken from the dresser and quickly slipped on. She ran a brush through the length of her hair, pulling it up to the back of her head with a hair tie and slipped into the bathroom to check her face. Staring at her image in the unflattering light of the bathroom mirror, Louisa knew there wasn’t much that could be done in the few minutes remaining before her guest’s arrival. The best she could hope for was to present a clean face along with brushed teeth and hope her eyes wouldn’t be too noticeable. With time and a few quick applications of an ice bag, her eye lids would be of a more acceptable size in proportion to her face when she left for school. In the meantime, she would have to settle for splashes of cold water and a washcloth.

On her way out the bedroom door, Louisa tugged on a pair of trainers in a half hopping, half standing sort of dance step, and took the phone from the bed. Once downstairs, she filled the electric kettle, switched it on, and then went to answer the knock coming from the front of the cottage.

“Good morning, Louisa. I brought you half a dozen brown eggs from my laying hens.” Joan brushed past her and then stopped in the entry. “Dear, you look terrible.”

“Good morning to you too, Joan.” Louisa closed the front door and went to tend to the whistling kettle.

Joan followed her through to the quaint kitchen and placed the carton of eggs in the fridge. “I’m sorry. That didn’t come out quite the way I intended it to.”

“That trait seems to run in your family.” Louisa turned to pour boiling water over the jasmine tea leaves in the steeping chamber of the Royal Doulton teapot she had taken down from the cupboard.

“Touché, my dear, touché.”

A twinge of remorse pricked at Louisa until she apologized. “I know what happened between Martin and I wasn’t your fault. I suppose I’m just a bit miffed he went running to you for help. I assume that’s why you’re here.”

“Oh, heavens no. I haven’t spoken to Martin since I saw the two of you at the reception. He would never run to me for help with his love life. No, I heard about what happened while I was making my morning deliveries, the village grapevine of course. I hoped it wasn’t true, but by the look of you, it appears it is.” Joan unbuttoned her overcoat, pulled a chair from beneath the kitchen table and sat down on the plush cushion covering its oak seat. “You don’t seem surprised that the village knows what went on last night.”

“I’m not. Mrs. Lamb suffers from insomnia. I assumed she heard Martin banging at my door. As I suspected, it was only a matter of hours before the village was told. Not much can be done with people like Mrs. Lamb. Best to ignore her and move on.”

“Well, I can assure you, Martin will not be taking Mrs. Lamb’s rumor mongering as well as you are. I pity the woman the next time she arrives at the surgery for her medications.” Joan picked up one, of two, spice shakers, a caricature of a Hereford cow, from the center of the table and turned it in her hands while she spoke. “Louisa, I suppose I should tell you that I _am_ here to speak with you about Martin, but he doesn’t know I’m here and he has not asked me to speak with you. No, I’m here out of concern for the two of you.”

Louisa brought the tea set to the table and poured the hot beverage. Looking around her kitchen, she said, “Sorry, I’m a bit ill prepared for entertaining morning guests. I don’t have much to offer you in the way of breakfast. I could make toast with jam if you’d like or poach you an egg.”

“No, Dear. Not at all necessary. I’m here to talk, not eat.” She put down the Hereford shaker and began to add sugar to the cup of tea Louisa placed in front of her, prolonging the awkwardness of the visit further by stirring well beyond the point of dissolved sugar crystals. “Louisa, I think it would be a mistake to end what has taken so long to come about between you and Martin. I know you think I’m here to defend my nephew, but I’m not. I know he does things which are indefensible, and if I knew everything about what happened last night, I would probably be inclined to side with you on the matter. But, I don’t know everything and I’m not going to ask. Instead I’m going to tell you what I know to be true about my nephew.”

“Joan, it’s not necessary to do this. I know you mean well, but Martin and I are adults. I think we…”

 “Please, Louisa. Let me say my piece. I promise once I have, I’ll say no more about it. Agreed?”

“Yes, of course.” Louisa placed her hands around the tea cup occupying the flowered place mat on the table in front of her and waited for Joan to continue.

“My nephew is an extraordinary man. He is extremely intelligent, and a brilliant and respected surgeon. He’s capable, well meaning, honest and as dependable as the Cornwall rains. A more reliable and trustworthy man has never walked the earth. He’s a good man Louisa, but I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that.”

“I know he’s all those things, but, he’s also brusque, unthinking, rude, ill-tempered, socially inept, emotionally crippled, and…well…rude!”

“You’ve already said that.”

“I know. I thought it bore repeating.”

Joan chuckled, took a sip of her tea and thought for a moment. “I blame it on his upbringing.”

“What?” Louisa was surprised Joan would blame such a thing on something so cliché. “Martin is a grown man, capable of determining his own behavior.”

“Yes, you’re right about that in some respects. Though a person can’t mimic something they’ve never seen done.” Joan took another sip of the flower scented tea and relished the flavor while deciding whether or not to unlock the bolted door to her nephew’s past. After some silent deliberation, she decided it would be worth opening the door if only to help Louisa to better understand. “Martin would never tell you this, but he had a miserable, loveless childhood. Both of his parents were self consumed. His mother, with her wants and needs which trumped the needs of her child. His father, whose career as a surgeon trumped both Martin’s needs as well as his mother’s. Neither wanted Martin and they had no trouble showing him how they felt about his presence. If it hadn’t been chic in their circles to be pregnant at that time, she would have had him aborted.” Joan raised her hand, “I know, that’s a harsh way of putting it, but it’s true.” The sting of reopened emotional wounds stopped her until the oppressive sadness passed. “When Marty was old enough, barely six years old mind you, he was sent off to boarding school. When he wasn’t at the school, being ridiculed and mistreated by the other boys, he was at the farm with me and his uncle. I tried to undo the damage done to him, but a few months isn’t long enough to undo years of abuse. At one point I asked for custody when Marty was eleven or so. My brother would have none of it, and broke off my contact with him completely.”

“I wasn’t aware of any of this. Why wouldn’t he have shared this with me?” Louisa was heart sick. Everything between them was a matter of digging and pressing him for bits and pieces. It hurt her to think the years they spent together brought her no closer to gaining his trust than the first day they met. 

“Martin is who he is, Louisa. He doesn’t share, he doesn’t trust, he doesn’t need. He doesn’t do anything which might make him appear to be vulnerable or weak.” Joan reached across the table for Louisa’s hand, giving it a matronly pat. “But he does need, Louisa. He needs you and everything you offer him. He’s just too headstrong to admit it to himself or to you.” Joan took up the teapot and warmed their tea.  “Louisa, I want you to understand I’m not holding up what I’ve told you as an excuse for Martin’s behaviours. He is a grown man, as you’ve said, who is capable of determining his own behaviour. Though, I sometimes wonder if his circumstances may have somehow nurtured something that was already there. Something he may not have control over. I don’t know. I’m not a doctor. What I do know is that he can learn to do anything, if he’s motivated and someone takes the time to teach him. You’re his motivation Louisa, as well as his teacher. Don’t give up on him, not yet.” Joan was pleading for her nephew’s future, knowing full well that if Louisa let him go, he would never reach out to anyone ever again.

Louisa got up from the table to stand in front of the sliding glass doors overlooking the cliffs. The room was silent now except for the diesel engine noise echoing off the sea walls. “I don’t know if I have it in me to keep fighting for him. We take tiny steps forward and then something happens and we’re back at the beginning again. It’s frustrating and it’s breaking my heart.”

“Do you love him?”

“What kind of question is that to ask?”

“Do you, yes or no?”

“Yes, I do.”

 “Do you remember when it was you fell in love with him?”

“Yes, of course I do. It was in the ambulance on the way to hospital with the Crunk Boy. I don’t know what it was about that night, but Martin was so compassionate toward Peter. I think he could sense the boy’s fear and he instinctually stepped in to comfort him, to reassure him that everything was going to be alright. And…”

“And what?”

“And he surprised me when he genuinely and lovingly apologized to Peter for having been cross with him earlier in the day. I had no idea he was capable of behaving that way and I suppose it gave me hope that my feelings for him were well placed. Those glimpses are so few, even when it’s just the two of us. With as rare as they are, I don’t know if they’re enough to keep me going.”

Joan pushed her chair clear of the table and proceeded to take the tea set to the sink. “I can’t tell you what you should or shouldn’t do. I just thought you could do with having all the facts before you came to your decision.” She rinsed the teapot and placed it upside down in the dish drainer. “I suppose I should be going. You’ve got classes to teach and I have deliveries to finish. Please, just think about what I’ve said.” Making her way to the door, Joan buttoned her coat again and said, “My dear Louisa, whether you know it or not, you have brought food to a man who has known nothing but water. You can’t expect him to adjust to the nourishment over night. It takes time, of which you two have plenty.” A shiver ran through Joan when the door was opened and the cold let in. “You do realize you are the only woman Martin has ever truly loved. The only woman he has ever let peer over the wall he’s built around him. You do know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do. It’s that man behind the wall I’m trying reach, he just won’t let me.”


	7. The Face to Face

His day was made worse by the cretinous, looky Lous strolling past the scene of his accident to point and gawk. It appeared the entire village was taking up space in his waiting area to sprinkle salt on his open wounds or offer unwanted advice.

Things overheard while passing between the consultation room and the surgery waiting area, caught Martin’s attention, as well as his worry, which was why he was standing outside the gate to the school grounds waiting to speak to Louisa. He wanted reassurance that the things being overheard were untrue, that she hadn’t told others before she told him. It wasn’t like Louisa to do such a thing. Yet, he had to be certain.

It was a longer wait than anticipated before Louisa emerged from the school building. Carrying the usual armload of folders and textbooks which had become a permanent burden to the hip she rested them on. Martin watched as she walked toward him, appreciative of the feminine, yet, purposeful stride of her steps. There was something about the way she walked, which had a way of consuming the whole of his attention.

“Martin, what are you doing here? You do realize I was serious when I said I needed time to think.” Louisa’s words broke the trance she unwittingly placed him under.

Gaining his foothold again, Martin held true to form and got straight to the point. “Have you told the village your decision before you told me?”

“What are you going on about, told the village what?” Louisa shifted the load she was carrying to the other hip.

“Have you told the village you were through with me, before you told me?”

“No, I have not. Whatever you’ve heard has not come from me. I told you I would be by to talk once I’ve thought things out, and I meant it. It’s not anyone’s business but our own.”

Martin’s relief was palpable. “I don’t understand why we can’t sort this out together. Why do we have to be apart to do this?” The impending separation was not setting well with him. Nor was the possibility that their time apart could last longer than the few days he was prepared to wait. “Why does it have to be done this way? I don’t see the point.”

“Martin, I don’t believe you’re seriously wanting to do this here.”

He relieved her of the folders and textbooks she was juggling, setting them carefully atop the rock wall near the gate. “Yes, Louisa, I do. I need to know why you’re so upset with me. It seems there’s more to this than what happened between the two of us last night.”

Taking hold of the sleeve of his jacket, Louisa pulled Martin through the gate, away from the street, to a place far enough from others not to be overheard. “Do you remember what I said to you last night before I left the car?”

He remembered every word she said to him that night, as if it had been burned indelibly on the wrinkles of his brain. “You said you were sorry, but you didn’t want to see me anymore.”

“No, before that. When I said we weren’t going anywhere and we never would. Didn’t you wonder what I meant by that? Didn’t you think about it at all?”

The night before, he lay in his bed and thought of nothing else but those parting words.

“Martin, I feel like I’m the only one who wants this relationship. The only one who is actively participating in it.”

 “There’s no one else, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

 “I wasn’t accusing you of being unfaithful. It wasn’t meant to sound as if I were.” Louisa looked out over the cliffs, to the birds nesting within the cliff walls. She envied them the freedom they enjoyed. Their lives were lived free from all the bits of fluff and flotsam which complicated hers. “What I’m trying to say is, you don’t seem to care whether we’re together or not.”

“That’s not true. I do care; I just don’t go about sharing every feeling I have with the world as you do.”

Louisa ignored his self protecting barb. “I’m not criticizing, Martin, and I haven’t asked you to share your feeling with the world, just with me.”

“That remark was uncalled for on my part. Please, forgive me.” Martin searched her face for the mercy which seemed to be a constant there and found it. “Louisa, opening up has gotten me nothing but ridicule and disdain in the past. It only takes a few burns before you realize how it happens and you stay away from the open flame.”

“I’m sorry others have hurt you so badly, I truly am, but I’m not those people. I hold no agenda and I don’t seek anything from you that every other woman doesn’t want from a man.” Why did everything always have to be so difficult between them? “It comes to this Martin; I need to know I’m not in this alone, that you want this as much as I do. Until you make up your mind to be a participant in our relationship and not just a spectator, we won’t be capable of moving forward.” Louisa looked away, unable to withstand the look of pain spreading across his face.

“I’ve never been good with relationships, Louisa.”

 

“That’s an excuse, and not a very strong one at that. We are what we let ourselves become, Martin. However, sometimes we’re lucky enough to have something come along which makes us want to change. Which makes us want for something more than we have.”

  
“I do want to change; I just haven’t any idea where to start.”

“I’ve dropped enough hints to feed half the chaffinches of Cornwall. It’s time you gathered the pieces together and decide if the promise of what we have together is worth your effort.”

He stepped toward her, resolute in his want to touch her one last time before their self imposed separation started once again.

Louisa realized what it was he was attempting to do and took a step backward. “Please, Martin. Don’t touch me. If you touch me I’ll lose my resolve and we’ll be right back where we started. Me, expecting nothing from you, and you giving exactly that.”


	8. His Confession

_Follow up! Follow up! Follow up! Follow up! Till the field ring again and again, with the tramp of the twenty-two men. Follow up! Follow up! Follow up!_

Louisa stood at the window beside the front door of her cottage, peering into the darkened street, watching the shadowy figure of a man she knew, but didn’t recognize at the moment, make a fool of himself in front of her neighbors. This wasn’t like him and she wondered just what had gotten into him since their meeting in the school yard.

A few minutes later, when it appeared Martin showed no sign of slowing, Louisa opened the window so she could be heard above the second turn through the chorus he was trudging his way through. “Martin, have you been drinking?”

“No. I have not. I can assure you I am perfectly sober. If I had been drinking I wouldn’t be standing in the middle of your street. As you well know, alcohol puts me to sleep.”

“What are you doing here then?”

“What does it sound like I’m doing? I’m singing you a song. It’s the Harrow Secondary School song to be exact. It’s the only song I know by heart.” He finished the chorus with a bigger, but no more tune filled voice than before. “ _With the tramp of the twenty-two men. Follow up! Follow up! Follow up!_ That was the chorus. Would you like to hear the verse?”

“No, Martin. I don’t want to hear the verse. I want you to stop this now and go home.”

He emphatically shook his head. “I’m not going home, Louisa. I’m going to stand out here until you let me in to talk or that twit Penhale comes to arrest me for disturbing the peace.”

“What is it you think you’re accomplishing out there?” Whatever it was he thought he was doing, she wasn’t certain it was having the desired effect.

 “I’m attempting to be romantic and spontaneous. It would come off a bit better if I was singing something more romantic, I know, but I don’t know any romantic songs. In fact I don’t know any songs, romantic or otherwise. Except of course for the one I’m singing to you now.”

“Go home, Martin. This isn’t at all what I meant when I said you needed to decide what it was you were going to do next.”

“I’m floundering out here, Louisa. I don’t know what it is you want me to say or do to help remedy this. I don’t know anything, anymore.” Martin was grasping for a lifeline she didn’t seem incline to throw his way.

The exasperation Louisa felt at the moment was difficult for her to keep at bay. No one could be this clueless when it came to personal relationships. “I know somehow you’ve gotten it into your head that I want these things from you, and I know you feel if you _were_ these things our relationship would be on a better footing, but you would be wrong. I’m not one of those silly women who cling to ridiculously unrealistic notions about love. Romance fades, Martin, especially when it’s forced. What I need from you is just you. Martin Ellingham, the real Martin Ellingham, not the face you’ve chosen to present to the world. I want you to feel safe with me, to share your needs and fears. I want you to open up, to let me see you for who you really are. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

 “You’re asking me to do something I’m not certain I’m capable of doing.”

“Martin, real relationships are difficult. They’re based solely on trust, love and acceptance. All of which are difficult for anyone to put into practice. Even more so for someone who has been hurt as you have.” The lover in her wanted to run to him, cover him with kisses and take him to her bed. The behavioral observer in her knew he would need to come to her if they were to move any nearer to the relationship they sought. “I trust you, Martin and I’m worthy of your trust in return. I love you and I accept you for who you are, with no reservation. Why can’t you trust me and let me love the man who so desperately wants to be loved?” Louisa hung her head in resignation, drained of what it was she had to say. “Let me behind the wall you’ve built around yourself. I think we’re both deserving of that.”  Louisa closed the window and drew the shade.

This was to be Martin’s defining moment. Either he remained silent, letting the only woman who ever cared a bloody thing about him slip through his hands or he fought against his natural bent and told her everything he knew she needed to hear from him. The things he wanted to say.

Martin moved to the cottage door and bowed his head toward the casement and the edge of the door. “Louisa…” He stammered at first, not knowing exactly what it was he was going to say, trying to allow the despair he felt speak for him. “I… I love you with everything that makes me, me. I… I can’t imagine my life without you and it frightens me to think that could ever be a possibility.” He fought back the lump he felt building within his throat. “I daydream about the times we’ve kissed. About how right it feels when your lips touch mine, and how your body conforms to mine when I hold you. As though we were made to be together.” He pressed closer to the door and placed his hand on the window as he had done the night before. “I dream of what it will be like the first time we’re together. How your body will respond mine.  And I ache for that moment. I need your intimacy, like I need the air to live. You calm what’s inside that tears at me and you make me feel there’s still hope.”

The entrance to the cottage slowly opened to reveal the dimly lit entry where Louisa stood. The moonlight coming through the open door reflected off the tears streaming down her cheeks. Impressing upon him once more just how beautiful she was and how thankful he was that she had chosen him.

Martin closed the door and went to her. Reaching for her hand, he wiped the tears from her face with his handkerchief, and then pulled her into his arms. Holding her tightly to him, as if he were afraid she might escape before he could finish his say, he stroked her long, dark hair and began to speak tenderly into her ear. “Let me be the one you come home to, Louisa. Let me be the one who holds you when you’re despairing, and let me be the one you whisper to in the dark before you drift to sleep.” Martin kissed the nape of her neck, lingering over the warm scent of her skin. “Please, Louisa. I can’t bear to be without you. Will you marry me?”

Her answer was a simple one, but one she waited years to say. “Yes, Martin. Yes, I’ll marry you.”


End file.
